there are so many things I can’t wait to introduce to my eventual-kid(s). Rumi. Bollywood dancing. Bachata. BOOKS! Spring after winter…. Snow! Sledding! Swimming! I can’t imagine being that young… where everything is new.

The Music We Are

Did you hear that winter is over?The basil and carnation cannot control their laughter.

The nightingale, back from his wandering,has been made singing master over all the birds.The trees reach out their congratulations.

The soul goes dancing through the king’s doorway.Anemones blush because they have seen the rose naked.

Spring, the only fair judge, walks in the courtroom,and several December thieves steal away.

Last year’s miracles will soon be forgotten.New creatures whirl in from nonexistence,galaxies scattered around their feet.

Have you met them?Do you hear the bud of Jesus crooning in the cradle?

A single narcissus flower has been appointedInspector of Kingdoms. A feast is set.Listen. The wind is pouring wine.

Love used to hide inside images. No more.The orchard hangs out its lanterns.

The dead come stumbling by in shrouds. Nothing can stay bound or be imprisoned.

You say, End this poem here, and wait for what is next.I will. Poems are rough notations for the music we are.

Basically asks the question, why is something considered a mystical spiritual experience in some places…. and a psychotic episode in America / the Western world ? (and how do we change that?)

Very very interesting. Apparently there was a revolution to look at psychiatry through a more spiritual lens at one time, but I gotta tell you when I was in the hospital that was CERTAINLY not the case.

Also the book delves into the topic of psychedelic drugs as well.

Always find myself thinking of Rumi, when it comes to madness as a religious experience. Here is one for you.

Shreds of Steam

Light again, and the one who brings light.Change the way you live.

From the ocean-vat, wine-fire in each cup.Two or three of the long-dead wake up.Two or three drunks become lion hunters.

Sunlight washes a dark face.The flower of what is true opens in the face.Meadow grass and garden ground grow damp again.A strong light like fingers massages our heads.No dividing these fingers from those.

Draw back the lockbolt.One level flows into another.Heat seeps into everything.The passionate pots boil.Clothing tears inot the air.Poets fume shreds of steam,never so happy as out in the light.

tryna get together some spoken word for my Creative Writing class. I hate speaking in front of people. My voice is manly and shaky. I hate how I sound. anyways here’s an excerpt.

the windows are shut.what is an ending?spilled milk, broken cage,something sharp and blood coveredthe answer to whether you can remember the yellow house and forget the ashesor dress yourself in charred lampshade indefinitely.I woke up to watch you drink directly from the sun and nowI am begging you to run away with me.scatter yourself into dandelion chunks, drift somewhereheatsoakedwinter was a mutual drowning, where the wailing claw of realityhas left a crust on the rim of every champagne glass.This was an expensive year for both of us.the future stumbles indoors and cannot recognize his own brilliancethe past gave us teeth andwhen he comes knocking,prepare to bite down.Hard.

Him: How old do you think I am?Me: I don’t know… 25?Him: (laughs) I’m ninety eightMe: WOW, well then you’re doing pretty good!Him: Yup, my wife and I have been married for sixty-nine years.Me: … how old do you think I am?Him: (stares me up and down) Twenties?Me: Yup I’m 21.Him: So you’re not married hmm?Me: Heck no. I call that ‘The Trap’Him: (laughs delightedly)

———

so decided to take a 2 AM trip to Detroit Lakes with my friend… but ten minutes out of Fargo he says, “hey have you ever been to Buffalo State Park?” and I was thinking the stars would be amazing so I begged him to take me there instead.

And I was right, the stars were phenomenal to the point where I could not stop smiling. The weather was perfect. No wind, very few mosquitoes, and warm enough with the blanket I brought. Glad I didn’t just go to bed like I had intended.—“In fact, I am aware of the fake entities in my life.I know that I can clearthem if I wanted to in a moment …But all this hollowness needs my sincerity.”

stars—–time traveler. The past is looking more and more surreal every day.you ever find yourself crying on an examination table to a doctor who insists you’re only sad because it’s winter?you ever find yourself unable to even disagree because your confidence level is zero and you have de-evolved to something almost unrecognizable to anyone who knew you before?—————-Submit to love without thinking,as the sun this morning rose recklesslyextinguishing our star-candle minds.-Rumi

“The day that I am crazy for your love,I’ll be such a madman that even demons can not compare.What a blink of your eyelashes does to my heart,Even the stroke of the pen of the master of the Divan can not compare.”-Rumi